


A Little Adventure

by Poppelganger



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pokemon GO
Genre: Age Difference, Casual Sex, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Phone Sex, Reader-Insert, Teasing, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:07:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poppelganger/pseuds/Poppelganger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a rainy summer day, the reader finally gets the chance to talk to Professor Willow without dozens of other researchers around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have been struggling the last couple days to balance my updates and other obligations with my ongoing pokemon turf war with my neighbors. This is definitely the wrong answer to that dilemma, but nonetheless the one I arrived at. 
> 
> TL;DR: Regular updates are delayed because I am irresponsible and beyond saving. Here is some mediocre smut instead.

The rainy season always brings a smothering heat with it, the kind that breathes hot air down your back and plasters your hair to the nape of your neck, but you’ve never really minded.  Everyone you know treats the rain like a nuisance, but you’ve always found it comforting, the gray of the sky peaceful and the rumble of distant thunder soothing.  It’s even better away from the city, uninhibited by skyscrapers or traffic or human beings, the trappings of urban life.  The rain is stronger here, filling the cracks in the concrete and turning dirt roads into mud. 

You think you’re a bit like the rain; you do better, feel better, the farther away you get from people.

Not that you mind the city.  You’ve spent a lot of time investigating every nook and cranny of your usual haunts—your favorite eatery with kitschy, vintage photographs on the walls had a nest of rattatas living in the alley behind it that they were happy to have gone—as well as finding places in town you’d never even seen before in pursuit of pokemon, inevitably crossing paths with a dozen other people doing the same thing.  You’re living in the golden age of pokemon research, and it’s nice to compare notes with your peers to see what they’ve come across.

But at the end of the day, as you drag home with new entries in your Pokedex, you glance at an old road that branches off from the main drag, pavement turning to gravel somewhere in the distance and you glance down at your GPS to find a point of interest all by itself in the middle of nowhere.  You wonder how many people have walked past it without a second glance, dismissing it as not worth their time, and before you know what’s come over you, you’re walking down that quiet road.

This is your favorite part of your research.  When you leave the city and travel down roads less traveled, where the sound of passing cars and human chatter fade into murmurs in the distance and all you can hear is your shoes sinking into the mud and the rumblings of an approaching storm, you feel more in touch with your surroundings.  You hear wild pokemon in the grass, soft chittering and mewling, sounds you’d never hear elsewhere until they were close enough to bite you.  You catch a psyduck that waddles up to you curiously out of the underbrush just as the sky grows dark, sunset vanishing behind ominous storm clouds.  You fumble with your bag, still trying to find your umbrella when the sky opens and you’re caught in a downpour.

To your surprise, you hear someone call your name just over the harsh patter of rain and a peal of thunder.  Through vision blurred by raindrops, you think you see someone coming down the road, waving their arms frantically.  You don’t realize who it is until they’re right beside you, shielding you both from the rain with a large black umbrella and hunching slightly to converse with you beneath it. 

“What a surprise!” Professor Willow says, speaking loudly so he can be heard over the wind, “I didn’t think I’d run into anyone else out here.”

“Neither did I,” you confess.

He gestures back over his shoulder with his free hand and tilts his head.  “Let’s get out of the rain,” he says, and you nod, following him down the road.  His lab coat is soaked, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms but sagging with water weight and sticking to his biceps, nearly translucent.  He catches your eye, but when you look away in embarrassment, he gives a light-hearted laugh.  “I was in a hurry,” he explains, “I went to bring in some of my equipment when the rain started and saw you out here.  Didn’t think to take off the coat.”

The lab is a temporary building raised out of the mud on wooden slats, door left wide open in Professor Willow’s haste.   You glance down at your GPS and find that it’s the waypoint you were looking for.  “I didn’t know you had a lab out here,” you say.

He shrugs.  “Just for now.  I can only get so many days of field work in before I’m called back to the main lab.  It’s a shame, this is my favorite part of my job.”

He ushers you inside first, closing his umbrella in the doorway and shaking off the excess water before leaving it propped against the inside wall.  You glance around curiously at all of the odds and ends in the room; a pokemon transfer machine against the wall, a coffee maker and microwave jammed into a small kitchenette space in the corner, a long table covered in a mess of loose papers and folders with a couch on one side.

“Make yourself at home,” the professor says, gesturing vaguely towards the couch as he peels his lab coat off of his shoulders and tosses it into a bin by the door with t-shirts and towels inside, “And ignore the mess, if that’s possible.  Can I get you anything?  Tea, coffee?”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” you tell him, setting your backpack down beside the couch and taking off your hat to wring out your hair before you take a seat, careful not to drip on any of the important-looking papers on the table in front of you. 

He shakes his head, heading over to the kitchenette in the corner.  “No trouble,” he says, “Have you been keeping hydrated?  How about a glass of water?”

“Ah, sure,” you say sheepishly, suddenly remembering just how little you’d had to drink today, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says, and when he turns back from the sink, he has a warm smile on his face that stirs up butterflies in your stomach.  You’ve met him a handful of times before—once, when you first decided to volunteer for the research position, and a time or two after that to ask him some questions about GPS waypoints—but those meetings were always brief and hurried, as he was constantly hounded by his lab team for help or called to assist the volunteers who came in after you.  Only now do you get the chance to appreciate his company in a relaxed atmosphere, and as he comes to sit beside you on the couch, pushing aside the papers to set your water in front of you, you suddenly realize just how striking his portrait is.  He takes his glasses off to wipe off the raindrops, but ends up setting them aside, as well.

“So how’s your research going?” he asks eagerly.  Professor Willow is difficult to read from his face alone; you don’t think you’ve ever seen him looking anything other than content or mildly displeased.  Even now, as he speaks in a tone that betrays his interest in the subject, he looks patient and composed, as though he doesn’t want to rush you.

“It’s going well,” you say, taking a sip of water, “I have to admit, I never thought I’d get to do anything like this.  You always hear about kids going out and becoming trainers, but I never got the chance.  This has been a really great opportunity for me.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”  He leans back, pulling his gloves off one finger at a time before he reaches for his own glass.  “My goal for this project was to get people of all different backgrounds involved,” he says, “Sticking with experienced trainers has some drawbacks.  I think there are things they might overlook that a fresh set of eyes would catch, and it brings a lot of new and exciting ideas to the table.”  He pauses, glancing at you with an appreciative smile.  “Working with volunteers like you has taught me a few things, too.  Namely, to stop and smell the roses from time to time.” 

You laugh.  “I was just thinking about that on my way here, actually.  I used to love going on walks and finding neat little places around town, but I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t had the chance.  Doing this has reminded me how much fun it is to just pick a direction and go.”  Professor Willow holds your gaze without pause when you speak, nodding now and then, and though you appreciate his attention, you start to stumble, unsure of how to word what you want to say suddenly.  “And, um, I didn’t know all this was out here, but it’s pretty cool.  Uh.  And.  I’m glad I ran into you today, that was also neat.  And thanks for the water, I really needed it, you’re just so hot.”

You freeze when you see Professor Willow blink, his smile remaining but his brows furrowing slightly in confusion, and you realize you misspoke. 

“Oh my god,” you stammer, “I mean _it_ , like in general.  Like outside.  Not you.  It’s really hot out, not _you’re_ really hot, like…I mean, you’re not bad looking, for sure, but I was just…I wasn’t trying to make a pass at you, or anything like that, I….” 

 _Stop,_ you tell yourself desperately, _stop now,_ but the damage is already done.

Professor Willow doesn’t awkwardly excuse himself from the couch nor does he tell you to leave, but he also doesn’t say anything to reassure you for a while, apparently still surprised.  “No, it’s,” he finally starts, pausing for a moment, “It’s fine.”

This is too ambiguous for you to feel confident interpreting it correctly, so you ask, “What, what do you mean ‘it’s fine?’”

“I mean, if you were,” and his smile widens just a little bit, “trying to ‘make a pass at me,’ I wouldn’t mind.”

There’s complete silence for an unbearably long moment, interrupted only by rain falling hard on the roof.  Even with the air conditioning unit mounted on the wall going at full blast, it’s still a bit warm in the building, though it suddenly feels much, _much_ hotter.

Your hesitation stretches on too long, however, and you only notice when Professor Willow’s smile falters.  “Ah.  That was terribly unprofessional.  I’m sorry,” he says, “If you’d rather work with a different researcher after that, I’d understand—!”

“No,” you say quickly, blushing harder after realizing you cut him off, “I mean.  I.  No.  It’s fine.  I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”  You can already hear your heartbeat loud in your ears and have to tear your gaze away from his and look at the floor. 

“This isn’t what I invited you in for,” he says, and he almost sounds embarrassed, “And I really don’t know you very well.”  You feel gentle fingers under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes and find him smiling that familiar, small smile, the slightest hint of pink on his cheeks.  “But I guess we were both looking for a little adventure today, weren’t we?”

Your heart skips a beat when he leans in and presses his lips to yours, softly at first, giving you the chance to pull away.  When you overcome the initial shock, you wrap your arms around his neck and he lets out a pleased sigh, pulling you closer.  You turn your body on the couch to get closer to him, struggling to pull off one shoe with the toe of the other, and he gently draws you into his lap.  His hands come to rest on your hips when he pulls back to meet your eyes.

“Is this alright?” he asks, voice notably huskier than before.  You nod and catch just a glimpse of that slight smile again before he swoops back in, leaving a peck on your lips and trailing over to the corner of your mouth.  “I’d really like to get to know you better,” he murmurs against your ear, giving it a long lick along the outer shell, “I hate to make excuses, but I’m usually much more charming when it comes to this sort of thing.”  He nibbles lightly on your earlobe and blows onto the damp skin, making you shudder.  “But you surprised me, and I’m a bit out of practice, I’m afraid.

“You’re plenty charming,” you tell him, “You have such a nice smile.”

“ _I_ do?” he asks incredulously, “Yours is absolutely stunning, then.”  He returns to your mouth with an open-mouthed kiss, lips moving against yours hungrily as his hands smooth your jacket off of your shoulders, returning to your chest afterwards to trace your nipples through your shirt.  You bite down on your lip, squirming in his lap at the sensation.

“Professor,” you moan, and it occurs to you only momentarily that you don’t even know this man’s first name, but then he shudders at the title and you feel him getting hard beneath you. 

“That’s dangerous, volunteer,” he warns playfully, putting a hand on your chest and meeting your eyes hesitantly before you nod, and then he’s pushing you down onto your back.  He tugs at the waistband of your pants and underwear, giving an appreciative smile when you lift yourself to wriggle out of them, and pulls them both off in one go.  “You don’t know what you might get if you say things like that,” he adds.  You don’t even get the chance to reply before he leans in and presses his mouth to your throbbing clit, flicking it with his tongue before he closes his mouth around it and sucks.  The sound you let out is loud and embarrassing, and you cover your face with both hands, mortified.

Professor Willow lets you continue to hide because he still manages to drag more raw, high-pitched cries out of you, his tongue workings its way past your inner walls and opening you up.  You’re a mess when he pulls back to admire his handiwork, running his index finger down the center and swiping away a stripe of your clear fluid.  He lies beside you, one hand still massaging your womanhood, the other tracing your lips with two fingers.  You let Professor Willow’s digits into your mouth and suckle on them, watching for his reaction, enjoying the way his blush grows darker when saliva begins to drip down your chin.

He abruptly pulls both fingers out and presses them against your entrance, holding you still with his other hand on your hip.  He swipes his thumb over your clit, making you throw your head back, before he begins easing his fingers in, meeting your eyes apologetically when you wince.  “Sorry,” he says, “Didn’t come totally prepared,” but you shake your head and urge him to continue.  The initial discomfort gives way to pleasure as he twists his wrist and hits something deep inside of you that has you gasping and arching your back.  Professor Willow’s smile grows with satisfaction as you begin to thrust your hips against his hand, breathing labored, unbearably hot in what little clothing you have left on.

“Professor, please,” you say, “I want you now.”

You didn’t think he could get any redder.  He actually hesitates a moment, laughing softly to himself as if in disbelief.  “Maybe we’ve gone a little far for this to matter anymore,” he says, “But I am quite a bit older than you.  I’m not sure if that matters to you or not.” 

“That doesn’t matter,” you insist. 

“Maybe,” he adds thoughtfully, “Sometime after this, we should do things properly.  You know, dinner first, maybe a nature walk.  Then we’ll do this again.”

“That’s fine,” you say impatiently, rubbing your thighs together for a bit of friction.

“Now hold on,” he chuckles, “Because I’m not just saying this in the heat of the moment.  I mean it.  Why don’t we go out sometime?”

Despite the burning need in the pit of your stomach, you manage to form a few coherent thoughts, like, _oh my god, the hot professor wants a date with me!!_   “Yes,” you say breathlessly, and then he regards you with one of his little, tranquil smiles that makes your heart beat faster. 

He sheds his shorts first, untying the drawstring and letting them fall to the floor, kicking them away somewhere.  He takes off the athletic wear beneath it agonizingly slowly, and you realize it’s on purpose when he reaches for the zipper on his top and meets your eyes with what you think is a _smirk_.

“Are you serious?” you groan, “I’m one-hundred percent ready to go and you want to tease me _more_?”

“Young people these days,” he tuts, “Good things come to those who wait.”  He peels off the skin-tight bottoms, finally leaving him naked.  He climbs over you, pulling off your shirt and unclasping your bra with practiced deftness.  He disappears for a moment, crouching down beside the couch to dig through his pockets before he produces a condom packet, and you both look at each other with similarly amused expressions.

“I’m having a very hard time believing you didn’t invite me in here for this,” you tell him.

He shakes his head, tearing open the packaging.  “Sweetheart, if that’d been my intention from the start,” he says, covering his straining erection, “Then I’d certainly have had lube, and probably rose petals and scented lotion, too.”

You’re halfway through formulating a response when you get stuck marveling at the muscle definition of his chest.

“No more quips?” he prods.

“I’m at a loss,” you admit, “Why do you have a six-pack?”

He laughs.  “What do you mean ‘why?’”

“I mean _why_.  You looked fine with your clothes on, but now you have to go and have the physique of a Roman statue.”

“Mm.  Mountain climbing.”

“What?”

“Mountain climbing,” he repeats, splaying one hand across your abdomen and leaning down to press another kiss to your lips.  “Among other things.  I was pretty active back in the day, and I tried not to quit.” 

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips.  “Back in the day?”

“Hey, now,” he says, “No jokes about being old.  There’s something to be said about having experience.”  He places his hands on your knees, spreading your legs apart, and positions himself at your entrance.  His smile lessens, and a quiet intensity overcomes his features as he focuses on your body.  “Let me prove it,” he murmurs, one hand pressed to your clit as he begins to push inside.  He continues to rub and massage the sensitive bud while his other hand smooths up and down your spine, squeezing the globes of your rear as he slowly eases into you, sending waves of pleasure through you. 

“Almost there, sweetheart,” he tells you, and you hear the strain in his voice as he holds himself back from thrusting quickly, moving slowly and carefully and watching your face for any signs of discomfort.  When he finally slides home, your hips connect with a soft smack, and you lose it, gasping and arching your back, hands gripping the couch desperately for something to hold onto.  Professor Willow takes deep breaths above you, graying hair in disarray around his face.  “Do you believe me now?”

“Yes,” you pant, still trying to catch your breath.

“I’d hate to stop here,” he says with a mock sigh of disappointment, “But if you’re done already, I suppose….”

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer and shivering when he hits that spot inside of you again.  “I didn’t say I was done,” you tell him, “Give us young people some credit.”

This smile is bigger than any you’ve seen so far, and he leans over you to steal another kiss, setting a slow rhythm that lets him thrust nice and deep, never quite pulling out and leaving you feeling fuller than ever. 

“Oh god,” you moan, “Professor, I…I need….”  You’re not really sure what you need, unable to think completely clear through the haze of your last orgasm and a rapidly approaching second one.  “I need more.”

He smiles.  “Thought you’d never ask.  Turn over for me, sweetheart.”

You eagerly do as he asks, shuddering when he drapes his body over yours, pressing you into the couch, and lightly bites your ear.  “P-Professor….”

He pulls your hips back a bit, setting his knees between yours to spread your legs open wider, and then he slips back inside in one thrust.  You moan when he picks up the pace, hips colliding with yours as he molds his body over top of you and nibbles at the side of your neck.

You cry out his title again and feel him stiffen above you, his teeth at your neck biting a little harder but the pain is laced with pleasure.  He reaches around to cup the spill of your breasts in each hand, thumbs and index fingers swirling around the nipples and coaxing them into hardness again.  You know you’re close, and you try to tell him, but all that comes out are louder, more desperate moans. 

Professor Willow seems to understand, though, and he practically smothers you into the couch, thrusting into your tight heat faster and harder than before, the sounds of flesh against flesh drowning out the rain outside.  You tense under him when you reach climax, arching your back and letting out a moan that devolves into a soft whimper.  You hear him murmur against your ear how well you took him, how good you felt, how perfect you are and how wonderful your smile is, how much he wants to take you out sometime so he can really make you look forward to this, and then he’s coming, pace growing irregular before his body is moving without conscious thought, letting out a pained groan as his hips stutter against you.  His pelvis is locked with yours for several long, hard thrusts, and then you feel him relax as the tension leaves his body. 

He manages to pull out but doesn’t get up, still panting as he lays over you.  “Sorry,” he breathes, “Give me a minute.  Not as young as I used to be.”

You turn over beneath him, cupping his face in your hands as you press a kiss to his lips, enjoying the feelings of his stubble against your skin.  “I’d say you’re still pretty young at heart,” you tell him. 

In exchange for the smile he seems so enamored with, he gives you a brilliant one of his own.

*

The rain lets up sometime later.  You thank Professor Willow for the shelter, the water, the conversation—and _other things_ , you manage to stammer out, making him smile and kiss your cheek—before you sling your backpack over your shoulders and head for the door.

“I guess we should both get back to our research,” you tell him.

He nods.  “Of course,” and then, teasingly, “I hope you remember your own umbrella next time you come out.”

You frown a bit, feeling your face heat up.  “I was pretty sure I brought it with me,” you say, “But I might’ve just forgotten it at home.  I don’t really mind the rain, either way.” 

“I’m fond of it, too, especially after today.  It was a good excuse to talk to you.”

You raise a brow.  “A good excuse?  Have you wanted to say something before?”

“I did say I would’ve liked to get to know you, didn’t I?”  He opens the lab door and glances out at clouds in the distance, handing you his umbrella.  Before you can protest, he says, “You can return it the next time we see each other.  I really do like rain.”

You accept it gratefully, smiling when your fingers brush his as the umbrella trades hands.  “Another excuse to make sure we talk again?”

“Covering my bases,” he chuckles, “Now hurry and get home, you shouldn’t be up too late.  And remember to stay hydrated tomorrow.”

“Yes, dad,” you tease him, expecting him to roll his eyes or chastise you for bringing up his age.  

You don’t expect him to flush redder than a krabby’s carapace and avert his eyes.

“Well,” you say awkwardly, “See you later.”

“See you,” he says, and you glance back as you walk out of the lab to wave.

You like the rain.  You like going off the beaten path from time to time, finding places you can call your own.  Normally, finding somebody else already there would dampen your spirits, but this time you enjoyed the diversion.  There are still many weeks left in the rainy season and plenty of summer left for your research, and you intend to make the most of every day.

But a few of them, you’ve already decided, are going to be spent in the professor’s company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention I sold my soul to this game


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended for this to be a one shot but then I kept waffling on whether or not to indicate that the piece was finished and wondered, "What am I supposed to do with this now?"
> 
> Well I think it's obvious what I had to do. Tags have been updated accordingly.

It’s Saturday night.  Your friends are all meeting downtown to do some collaborative research, on the hunt for pokemon that will give them a competitive edge at their local gyms.  You were invited but politely declined, because you already had plans.

Sitting on the black leather hotel couch, you nervously cross and uncross your legs, tapping your fingernails against the cushion beneath you, eyeing the television remote and debating whether or not to give yourself some background noise, at least.  You glance at your phone.  The conference got out nearly half an hour ago; he should be here soon.  Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you get up to close the blinds, hiding the beautiful lights of the cityscape below and leaving yourself in near-darkness, save for the dim table lamps on either side of the couch. 

You hear footsteps down the hall, then the click of the door unlocking, and try to quell your nervousness as you stand in front of the couch.  Professor Willow opens the door, his weary eyes brightening when he catches a glimpse of you.  He sets his backpack down in the corner and slips out of his shoes.  You take a deep breath; you practiced this in your head a thousand times, but now, looking him in the eye, you aren’t sure you can say it.

“Welcome back,” you stammer, “D-daddy.”

You expect a small quirk at the corner of his lips like usual, but instead, you get a fuller, less restrained, almost hungry smile.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, and you notice that his voice is lower and huskier than usual.  His cheeks are reddening but he isn’t too embarrassed to back out, shedding his lab coat as he comes into the room and letting it fall on the edge of the couch.  He sits down, holding your gaze and extending a hand, beckoning.  “I had a long day,” he murmurs, “All I could think about was my little girl waiting for me.  You want daddy’s cock as much as he wants your pussy, don’t you?”

You don’t think that should turn you on, but it _does_ , arousal shooting down your spine and stomach fluttering with anticipation.  You stand frozen, equal parts eager and embarrassed, and wonder how you got here in the first place.

*

If you recall correctly, rewinding back a week or so, it starts over dinner.

Professor Willow ends up contacting you not long after your first little adventure to his temporary lab, asking you out on that date he promised, and you agree to meet him at a restaurant downtown; nothing too fancy, just a bar and grill with a casual atmosphere, perfect for getting to know each other.

You’re a little surprised to see him dressed almost identically to the last time you’d seen him, athletic wear, cargo pants and those ridiculous black and green crocs with a lab coat, missing only his gloves and backpack.  You wave from the table you’d held for him, feeling your face heat up when he shoots you a charming smile.  “Are pokemon professors not allowed to take their lab coats off?” you tease.

His face flushes just a bit and he laughs sheepishly.  “I came here straight from the lab.  Forgot I was even wearing it,” he admitted, “But maybe I should use that as an excuse.”

“I don’t mean to take you away from your research.”

He shakes his head.  “I think we could both use a break.”

“Guess so.”  A waitress comes by and you both order something from the bar.  You glance over the menu when she leaves, but your attention is really fixed on the man across the table.  The professor looks exhausted, dark circles shadowing the creases around his eyes, lifting his glasses up into his hair to read the menu and massaging his temple with one hand. 

“Are you alright?” you ask.

He glances up at you, looking startled.  “Hm?  I’m fine,” he says, “Sorry, do I seem a bit out of it?  I've had a long week.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head.  “I don’t want to complain.”

“Go ahead,” you encourage with a smile, “I don’t mind.  I’m actually kind of interested in what the research is like from your perspective.”

Professor Willow chuckles.  “In my opinion, your half of the work is much more interesting,” he says, “I actually started out as a field assistant like you, but that was a while ago.  Collecting data was a multi-step process that could take months within a region, since the pokemon transfer system was still being developed, not to mention how long it took to compare notes with researchers further away.”

“I never thought about that,” you say, “It must have taken forever to get samples to study before you could just transfer everything.”

“Things are much more expedient now,” he nods, “It’s nice that we can analyze pokemon from dozens of different regions almost instantly.”  He pauses, grimacing.  “For example, we’ve learned that pidgey and rattata are both highly invasive species and can be found absolutely everywhere.  I’ve considered releasing them with tags to track their movement, though truthfully, I’d like to get a little more variety from the field researchers.”

You choose to look at a light fixture rather than meet his eyes, because you’ve definitely sent him at least three dozen of each today alone.  “Oh.”

“But that’s alright,” he goes on, “With so many samples, we’ve been able to analyze size and weight distribution and correlate that with the environments they’re found in.  I might be more enthusiastic to find a lapras waiting in my transfer queue, but every pokemon I receive is interesting in some way.”

This is one of the reasons why you’re here having dinner with Professor Willow; the man is handsome, for sure, but he’s also a veteran in his field and passionate about his work.  You love hearing his anecdotes and getting a glimpse into the life of a pokemon professor, but more than that, you love seeing him talk about things he’s interested in, watching his smile grow and his gestures become more and more animated.

You realize you’re staring when he suddenly stops talking and laugh a little nervously.  “Sorry,” you said, “I’m paying attention, I promise.  I just love talking about pokemon with you.  You’re cute when you get excited.”

He looks surprised for a moment before he starts to laugh.  “Cute?” he repeats incredulously, “I don’t know about that.”

You roll your eyes.  “What, do you prefer ‘handsome?’  Because you are, but you’re always handsome.  You’re just especially cute when we talk like this.”

He touches his hand to his chin, chuckling, and you see his cheeks reddening a bit more.  “I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it,” he says, “But while we’re on the subject, you’re far cuter than I am, if you don’t mind me using that word.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, feeling a little shy suddenly, “If you think it applies.”

“I do,” he insists, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward, lowering his voice, “There are quite a few other words I could use, like ‘beautiful’ or ‘gorgeous,’ but I thought I’d tone it down since we just got here.”

You giggle.  “You’re pretty smooth, I’ll give you that.  I’m surprised you’re here with me, honestly.  There aren’t any cute colleagues at the main lab?”

“There have been,” he shrugs, “But they haven’t been my type.”

“How do you know I’m your type?”

He starts counting off points on his fingers.  “You like fieldwork.  You have a sense of adventure.  You’re not put off by my eccentric taste in clothing.”

“Eccentric?” you repeat, brow raised.  “What’s eccentric about it?  You said you’re pretty active, so you might as well dress for a hike if the mood strikes you.”  You lower your voice a bit, muttering, “I think it’s kind of hot, honestly,” and you can tell from the sly smile on his face that he catches it.

Your waitress returns not long after to take your orders, which is when she asks if you want the whole meal on one bill or if you’re paying separately.  “I’m paying for everything,” Professor Willow says before you even have a chance to answer, and you open your mouth to ask if he’s sure when the waitress smiles warmly and says, “Dad’s got this one, huh?”

Your voice is frozen in your throat by your surprise and embarrassment, but Professor Willow manages to salvage the situation by laughing and nodding.  When the waitress leaves, you turn to him with an apologetic expression.  “Sorry, I just froze up,” you say, “I wasn’t sure if I should correct her or not.”

“That’s alright,” he chuckles, “It doesn’t bother me.”

“I did that to you the other day, too, though,” you say, “I teased you a lot and I called you ‘dad’ when you were just trying to look out for me, and I felt kind of bad—!”

“Actually,” he cuts you off but doesn’t quite meet your eyes, “That really didn’t bother me, either.”  He pauses, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows nervously before continuing, “I’m kind of into that.”

You blink.  “Into…what?”

He looks flustered suddenly, picking a spot on the table to stare at.  “Ah.  That’s not really good dinner conversation.”

“What?  This is the perfect dinner conversation,” you say, reaching across the table and leaving your hand there, palm up.  Professor Willow glances at you and hesitates before placing his hand over yours.  “I’m here because I want to get to know you,” you tell him, “I know we did things in an…interesting order,” and you stop because he laughs and you have to shoot him a playful glare, “But that doesn’t mean anything.  As long as you feel comfortable talking about it, then I’m all ears.”

Professor Willow finally looks at you again, and the intensity in his eyes is enough to send a shiver down your spine.  He looks like he’s internally warring with himself about something, and after a moment of silence, he seems to come to a decision.  “I’m going to need another drink,” he tells you.

The food comes, and you enjoy a nice meal with a few more glasses of wine, talking about the latest power shifts at your local gym and comparing the pokemon you’ve found in rural and urban areas.  However, the conversation gradually drifts back to your offhanded comment from a few nights ago and the professor’s reaction.

“So you want me to call you ‘daddy?’” you ask, and even though the sentence sounded okay in your head, you immediately feel heat rush to your face when it comes out of your mouth.  Across the table, Professor Willow looks absolutely mortified.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” he says quickly, “I’m not interested in you because of the age difference between us.  This is completely separate from that.  If you were the same age as me, or even older, I’d still enjoy it if you….”  His face flushes and he averts his eyes again.  “That's really weird, isn't it?”

“No,” you try to reassure him, “It’s okay, really.  I wasn’t expecting it, I guess, but you’re not going to scare me off just like that.” 

You try to picture it; wrapping your legs around the professor’s waist as he eases into you, gazing into his eyes, and as you arch your back, you moan, “daddy,” in a breathless, needy voice, and you imagine his face from the other night, the bright red shade, the vulnerability but satisfaction in his eyes, and he starts to move faster, unable to contain himself now that you’ve discovered his kink—!

“Well,” you say, shifting uncomfortably in your seat and rubbing your thighs together a bit, “it’s definitely not a turn off.”

Professor Willow’s eyes darken at that, the expression on his face one you’ve only seen once before, when you were lying on the couch and he was determined to prove to you that him having a few years on you could be a really good thing in the bedroom.  “Would you want to try it sometime?” he asks, lowering his voice.

You don’t know why you’re nervous all of the sudden.  It must be the way he’s looking at you, like he’d really rather bend you over the table and have you right there, which is somehow an exciting thought.  You don’t even need to pause to think, immediately answering, “Yes.”

“I have to go to a conference this Saturday,” he says, “It’s going to be a long, boring day of cajoling the powers that be for more funding with a few of my colleagues, and I have to give a presentation, so I have a room downtown for the weekend.”  He pulls a hotel key card out of his pocket and slides it across the table, and you feel a childish thrill at the feeling of your fingers brushing when you take it from him. 

“I’ll be there,” you promise.

Professor Willow’s smile falters.  “This still isn’t quite the right order, is it?”

“Doesn’t bother me.”

He laughs.  “Well, then I guess I won’t let it bother me, either.”

*

And now, here you are, standing in a hotel room with Professor Willow and staring at his outstretched hand, feeling a little more reassured.  You like this, you decide, maybe almost as much as he does.

“Sweetheart?” he asks when the silence persists, and you catch a hint of worry in his eyes.  “We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.  I just want you to be comfortable—!”

You drop into his lap, straddling his legs with your own and kiss him deeply.  “No,” you say when you pull back, “I need daddy tonight.”

You feel his cock twitch beneath you, straining against the fabric of his pants.  He lets out a relieved sigh at your eagerness, kissing your forehead to show his appreciation.  “You’re so good to me, sweetheart.”

You smile mischievously.  “I can be a whole lot better.”  Pressing one more quick kiss to his lips, you push off of him and sink to your knees on the carpet floor between his legs, tugging at the drawstrings of his cargo pants and frowning in disappointment at the skin-tight athletic pants he has on underneath them.  Undeterred, you roll them down to his knees, and his cock springs to attention without the fabric in the way, the tip red and leaking.

“You don’t have to,” Professor Willow says, “I want this to be good for you, too.”

“I want to,” you tell him, wrapping one hand around the base and pumping the shaft lazily, watching him lean back on the couch and let out a low groan.  “Keep talking to me, daddy.”

He looks down at you in disbelief, like he isn’t sure you’re real, but regains confidence when you lean in and lick around the engorged head of his cock before taking the whole thing into your mouth.  “Shit, you’re,” he takes a deep breath, “Y-you’re amazing, sweetheart, your mouth is so hot, feels so good.” 

You drag another moan out of him when you take him deeper, lips sliding up and down his shaft as you bob your head, tasting him on the tip of your tongue.  Professor Willow is coming undone above you, gloved hands finding their way to your head; one gently stroking your hair, the other firmly holding you in place.  You wonder if it’s been a while for him.

“I-I…fuck, you know just what daddy likes,” he moans, “’M gonna fuck you so hard, honey, gonna take you right here on the couch.  Get you nice and wet, eat you out and make you feel good.”

Suddenly he pulls you off of him, and you look up in confusion until he pats the empty couch cushion beside him.  “Lie down,” he tells you, words taking on a commanding tone, “Daddy wants to taste your pussy.”

You hurriedly undress, watching out of the corner of your eye as Professor Willow goes to retrieve a bottle of lube and a condom packet from his backpack in the corner, shedding articles of clothing on the way, the last of which is his glasses that end up on the table.  You lay on your back and watch as he settles between your legs, hands on your hips to hold you still.  He looks up, eyes hazy with lust, and says, “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

You feel unbearably hot despite the powerful air conditioning.  Professor Willow teases your entrance with two fingers, and the squelching sounds it makes tells you just how wet you are.  “I-I,” you take a steadying breath.  There’s nothing to be embarrassed about here, not when you both love this.  “I want daddy to eat my pussy.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and then he presses a kiss to your womanhood.  He swirls his tongue around your clit and suckles on it, making you whimper.  His tongue gradually works its way inside while his hands massage your thighs, running over your skin and leaving you trembling.  You feel his stubble scrape your skin.

“So good,” you pant, trying to return the favor, “I—ahnn!—f-feel so good, daddy.  I love it when you use your tongue like that.”

There’s a loud slurping noise as he uses his fingers to spread the lips of your womanhood further and he eats you out sloppily, and your hands scrabble across the couch to find something to hold onto, digging into the leather.  The professor sits up a bit, making you whine in disappointment, but then you hear him pop open the lube bottle and see him pour some of the clear jelly onto his hands. 

“I’m ready, daddy,” you mewl, “I want your cock now.”

He looks pained as he shakes his head.  “Not yet, sweetheart.  I need to make sure you’re properly prepared this time.”  The whine he brings out of you when his first cold finger slides in makes him smile.  “But you’re being such a good girl for me.  I promise it’ll be worth it.”

He takes his time, adding one finger beside the first when you relax and thrusting them in and out in a slow and steady rhythm, twisting his wrist to hit the spot inside you that makes you arch your back and cry out for him.  You open your eyes to find him studying your face, and the intimacy of the whole moment—his warm smile, your shared, labored breathing, the unhurried pace of his movements—makes you whimper and reach for him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I-I’m ready,” you say, trying to sound self-assured but feeling completely exposed under his gaze.

Reluctantly, he pulls his fingers from your entrance, and you wince at the emptiness momentarily before you see him unrolling a condom, relaxing back on the couch and trying to calm your breathing.  Just as his tip prods against you, you hear him say, very softly, “Thank you.”

“Wh…what?”

“For playing along,” he clarifies, looking away. 

You frown and sit up, pushing Professor Willow back until he’s the one lying on his back, and climb over him, positioning yourself over his cock.  “I wasn’t just playing along,” you insist, and you struggle to continue when you feel your face grow hotter, “I like calling you d-daddy, too.  So don’t feel bad.”

His gaze softens and he rests his hands on your hips, touch gentle, rubbing circles into your skin with the pads of his thumbs.  “You’re really something,” he sighs.

You stare down at him.  “Thank you…?  Is that a compliment, or—?”

You choke on the next few words when he pulls you down by the hips, slowly breaching your walls, giving you time to adjust.  He chuckles at your breathlessness.  “Yes,” he says, “I’m just lost for words.  You’re amazing.  You’re patient with me.  You’re….”  He bites back a groan when you move of your own accord, rising up to the tip before sinking back down on him, bracing yourself with your hands on his chest.  “Y-you’re beautiful.  You’re thoughtful and considerate, and—!”

You cry out when his grip tightens and he pulls you down onto his cock while thrusting up in tandem, the sound of his hips meeting yours loud in the silent hotel room.  He starts to move faster, and you struggle to keep up.

“Shit, you feel so good,” he pants, and then laughs, “Sorry, that was…just a comment, not necessarily a compliment, but I guess it could be.”

“Don’t think so much,” you chide him, “Daddy,” and he sits up a bit, leaning his back against the couch armrest, hands sliding down to cup your rear as he fucks you harder, and you stop trying to meet his thrusts and let his momentum move you.  “Daddy,” you pant, “Daddy’s cock is so big, it feels amazing.”

“And you take it so good, sweetheart,” he groans, “So good, I don’t know if I’m gonna last much longer.”

You feel the muscles in your legs straining but you hardly notice as you ride him, his cock drilling deeper with each thrust.  You think your nails are digging into his back and you almost apologize, but his pace quickens as he crushes your lips together, sucking on your tongue and letting out a low moan that you swallow.

“I-I’m…daddy, I’m gonna come,” you stammer, gasping when he repositions you both, scooting down the couch to lie flat on his back and pulling you down with him, one hand at your hip and one on the small of your back.

“Go ahead and come, honey,” he whispers against your ear, “Come for daddy.”

That’s all it takes for you to lose it.  You cry out his name trembling, feeling your walls spasm around him and ride out your orgasm frantically grinding against him.  The professor never stops moving, keeping up a relentless pace even as you go limp above him, panting as you lie on his chest, but you feel his rhythm starting to slip and his hips start to stutter.  He takes ahold of your hips again and you feel his cock pulsing with his last few, strong thrusts that strike deep inside of you and make you cling to him. 

It takes a minute for either of you to even speak, let alone move.  Professor Willow drapes an arm around you and rubs your back, silent for a while.  “You okay?” he asks softly.

You take a deep breath.  “Yeah,” you say, “Better than okay.”

He chuckles.  “Glad to hear it.”

“When are we doing that again?”

His hand stills on your back and he looks down at you with surprise on his face.  “You…really?”

You stare right back.  “Was all of my moaning way too subtle for you?  I enjoyed it, too, you know.”

“Oh.  Well.  I hoped you would.”  He smiles.  “I’d love to do that again sometime.”

“Okay.”  You return his smile innocently.  “How about now?”

“Now?” he splutters.

“Well, yeah.  We’ve got time, don’t we?  You don’t have to check out until tomorrow, and it’s not like you have to be anywhere bright and early, do you?”

“Well, no, but—!”

“Please,” you say, looking up at him through your eyelashes, “Daddy?”

You feel his cock twitch in interest beneath you, but he closes his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh.  “What have I done?”

“Nothing you aren’t totally into.”

“I guess,” he chuckles, and you squeak in surprise when he cups your rear in both hands and kneads the flesh.  “Seems I was too gentle if you’re already asking for another round.  You want daddy to be rough with you?”

“Please,” you find yourself whimpering.

You think that, despite how embarrassed he was and how much he stopped to check on you, Professor Willow looks absolutely predatory now as he stares down at you with hooded, lust-clouded eyes, one hand trailing back to your already dripping pussy, and you decide you’re really into that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay but now I really don't know what to do haha.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE

You wake to the sound of the professor’s soft baritone voice drifting into the bedroom from downstairs.

Blearily, you open your eyes and see the bright red numbers on the bedside alarm clock telling you that it’s a little after three in the morning.  “Yes,” you hear him say tiredly, “I’m aware.  I’m not able to offer any solutions right now, but as soon as I hear anything….”

You struggle to sit up, body heavy with sleep.  The bedroom door is slightly ajar and a soft glow emanates from down the hall, a lamp or two turned on downstairs in the living room. 

“I have no control over the tracking system,” he says firmly, “I’m just as frustrated as you are by the system glitches.  Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Pushing the sheets aside, you tiptoe out of bed and slip out the door, glancing over the banister as you try to make your way downstairs as silently as possible.  Professor Willow sits on his living room couch, wearing nothing but a gray pair of sweatpants, hunched over with the phone pressed to his ear and his free hand massaging his temples.  You swear inwardly when the second to last step creaks beneath your foot, and the professor looks up in surprise, expression melting into something warm and adoring that makes blood rush to your face.

He holds your gaze as he beckons you over with one hand, and you wander over to him as he ends the call with one final assertion of, “No, I don’t know when, but I’m sure you’ll be notified.”  He hangs up and drops the phone carelessly onto the carpet floor, pulling you into his lap by the arms and burying his face in your chest.  You hold him, resting your chin atop his head, and feel the steady rise and fall of his shoulders.

This is the tenth night in a row that you’ve found him like this, the tenth night in a row that Professor Willow has sat awake late at night taking phone calls from concerned and frustrated researchers, unable to do anything but shake his head as dark circles gather under his bloodshot eyes. 

“Did I wake you?” he asks.

You slowly rub circles into his back, feeling how tense his muscles are beneath your fingers.  “The bed was cold without you,” you tell him.

He chuckles, pulling away to look up at you as he rests his hands on your hips.  “Let’s warm it up, then,” he says, and though you can’t deny that arousal begins to stir in the pit of your stomach, you shake your head and get off of him. 

“You could hardly keep your eyes open today at the lab,” you say, “And you’ve got a mountain of research proposals to get through this week, not to mention I’ve got another day of field work ahead of me tomorrow.  Both of us—but especially you—need to get more sleep.”

“You know what would help us sleep better?” he says teasingly, and it takes everything you have in you step further away from him and try to coax him towards the stairs. 

“You know what’s going to happen if we get started,” you insist, determined to stand your ground.  You don’t have to explain, because he knows damn well what happens; one round becomes two and two becomes three, and you’ll finally talk him into stopping long enough for a much-needed shower, only to stumble into round four on the cold tile floor.  In the morning, you’re both sore and would rather never move again; you know, until you drift out of semi-consciousness to find him half-hard and giving your arm a suggestive caress, asking huskily if you wouldn’t mind giving daddy a little sugar.

(Honest to god, he actually says that, and you don’t tell him to knock it off because somehow everything that comes out of his mouth when he’s lying naked next to you is hot, no matter how dumb it would be if someone else said it.)

He looks frazzled, eyes half-lidded and hair tousled the way it usually is after the two of you have more than a few hours to yourselves.  You’ve been together for a little while now, but you must still blush at the sight of him like this because a smile slowly stretches across his face.  “Just let me eat you out,” he says, and you must be tired or he must be especially sneaky right now—probably both—because suddenly his arm is snaking around your waist and he’s getting closer, close enough that you can feel just how hard he is, cock straining against his sweatpants, “I can get off on that.”

You frown and look him in the eye.  “Your work is more important,” you say, hoping you sound convincing as you reluctantly start heading back upstairs.

It’s been a long time for both of you.  Despite landing yourself a lab assistant position that allows you to spend afternoons with him documenting pokemon sent through the transfer machine, you’ve barely had any time to relax between that and your existing duties as a field researcher.  Since bugs and glitches in the tracking system began to show up, Professor Willow has been on the phone nonstop, constantly being pestered to fix something that he has no control over.  Worse still is the nearly unmanageable number of field assistants all sending research proposals in at the same time, thinly-veiled requests for free supplies, and you can tell the stress is really getting to him.

You glance back as you reach the top of the stairs and allow yourself a moment to appreciate how handsome he is even when he’s half-asleep, but take a deep breath and tell yourself to focus on his well-being.  You’d like nothing more than wild, passionate sex until the sun comes up, but you’ve both got places to be in the morning and a lot of work to do.

“Tomorrow’s going to be another long day,” he sighs, settling into bed behind you and wrapping his arms around your midsection, nestling his face in the crook of your neck.  You let out a pleased sigh at the familiar feeling of his stubble against your shoulder.

“I know.  What a time for the tracking system to get all messed up.”

“I’m telling you,” he insists, “A little stress relief would do us some good.”

You roll your eyes.  “I’d like that, too, but we’ve got more important things to focus on.  Let’s just get some sleep, alright?”

There’s a brief silence.  “So,” he says, “If I could get through all of my paperwork, you’d be willing to relax a little, too?”

You close your eyes and relax against him, trying to ignore the arousal warming the pit of your stomach and his hardness against your backside.  “Absolutely,” you say thoughtlessly, yawning, “Whenever that’ll be.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything after that, and eventually you hear his breathing begin to grow softer.  You’re too exhausted to think too much about the significance of your conversation, and soon enough, sleep overtakes you, too.

*

As predicted, you feel as though you were hit by a train when the alarm goes off, groaning as you roll over and anticipate a brief struggle to disentangle yourself from the professor.  You’re pretty surprised to find you can move without any resistance because he isn’t there.  Startled and a little disoriented, you sit up and glance around the room.  It isn’t completely out of the ordinary for him to leave before you in the morning; you start the day doing field work anyway, so the most you usually get in is a kiss at the door before a dratini appears on your non-functioning tracker and you’re spouting apologies as you take off running.

Shrugging it off, you go about your morning routine as normal, showering, getting dressed, throwing a couple sandwiches together to toss in your bag, and it’s then as you’re hurriedly cramming some lettuce into your hurriedly made snack that you feel someone press up against you from behind, pinning you to the kitchen counter, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Professor!” you exclaim, “Jeez, say something next time, you nearly gave me a heart attack—!”

He chuckles.  “Sorry,” he says, and you expect the hug and the peck to your cheek, but you don’t expect him to linger, his hands running down your sides and his breath coming in hot pants against your ear.  You’re still able to naïvely believe that he’s going to leave any second now, right up until he reaches around and grasps your breasts through your shirt.

“Whoa, Professor,” you gasp, laughing a little at how breathless you sound at just a bit of groping, “Um.  You don’t want to be late.”

“Oh, I won’t be,” he assures you, “I usually leave later than this.”  You take a shaky breath when he begins massaging your chest, pinching your nipples through your shirt and rolling his thumbs over the hardening nubs.  “Feels good?”

“Yes,” you sigh, shoving your sandwich aside so you have room to lean against the counter, arching your back and pushing your hips back against his.  One of his hands runs down your stomach and leaves teasingly light touches over your clothed thigh, and then he’s slipping his fingers underneath the waistband of your pants but staying out of your underwear.  He grinds against your backside in time with harsh swipes over your womanhood that leave your underwear soaked, and you’re panting his name, clutching the kitchen counter and getting even more excited at the thought of getting taken right here…

Which is when he stops, withdrawing his hands and stepping back from you, leaving you cold, weak-kneed and completely unsatisfied.  “W-what…?”  You turn to look at him, finding a teasing smile on his lips.

“We should get going, shouldn’t we?”

You open your mouth to say something and no sound comes out at first because you don’t even have words to express what you’re feeling right now.  “What?  No.  Get back over here.”

He shakes his head.  “You told me no sex until I’m all caught up with my paperwork,” he says, “And I’d hate to disappoint you.”

“Did I say that?”  If you could go back in time about six hours, you would punch yourself in the fucking face.  “I was tired, I wasn’t really serious.”

Professor Willow comes closer, backing you into the counter with one hand on either side of you, a predatory edge to his smile, and your face heats and your heart beats faster and you’re thinking, _Fuck yes_.

But he just ruffles your hair like you’re a precocious child and then he’s gone again, heading for the front door and saying he’ll see you at the lab later.

You breathe deeply, try to calm yourself and ignore the throbbing heat rushing through your body at the look that was just on his face, and admit to yourself that you may have made a terrible mistake.

*

Everything is fine for a few hours.

You clear your head with a nice walk along the river, happen across a nest of poliwags and catch a handful of magikarps—a few other assistants who wander by laugh when you wince at the cold water around your legs as you wade in to get close enough to catch it, but you’ll be the one laughing as soon as you catch about fifty more of these—and then you make a pit stop back home when you realize you forgot your water bottle.

Your phone vibrates and you fish it out of your jacket pocket, smiling to see Professor Willow’s number on the lock screen and a picture message waiting.

Your eyes are comically wide when his cock fills your screen, a bead of precum collecting at the tip as he holds it achingly hard and hot in one hand.  The accompanying text just says, “Thinking of you,” and all the time you spent trying to calm down and cool your arousal is suddenly worthless.

Furiously, you close out of the message and call him, waiting as you listen to the dial tone and try to tell yourself that you are angry.  Angry, rather than hopelessly turned on.

He answers on the second ring, quick enough that you know he was expecting it but still delayed enough to make you wait that much longer.  “Hello?” he answers, having the audacity to sound completely innocent.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you growl.

“Doing what on purpose?”  You can _hear_ the smile in his voice.

“This isn’t fair.”

“Of course it’s fair,” he says matter-of-factly, “You said no sex, and we certainly aren’t having sex.”

“You can’t tease me like this!  You’ve got, what, at least a week’s worth of paperwork to get caught up on.”

He chuckles.  “Have a little faith.  Most of it is research proposals, it shouldn’t take more than a few days.”  He pauses.  “I don’t want you to misunderstand,” he says, tone softer, “I was really moved that you cared enough to say something to me about getting more rest.  I know my schedule’s been hectic lately, and I’ve hardly had any time for myself, much less for the both of us.  I want to make it up to you.”

As touched as you are by his words, you still grimace.  “I can wait until you’re all done, too, then.”

“Oh, but I can’t.  This is going to get me through the next few days.”  His voice grows quieter and drops an octave.  “What are you wearing right now?”

You suddenly feel like you’re on fire, face burning in embarrassment and arousal.  “Wait, aren’t you at work?”

“Lunch break.  The other researchers stepped out to get tacos.  I’ve got the lab to myself right now.”

“Okay.  Well, I’m sure they’ll be back soon, and I wouldn’t want to put you in an awkward spot—!”

He cuts you off.  “Are you at home?”

You should probably say no just to save yourself the torment of his teasing, but your curiosity is making it extremely hard to lie.  “Um.”

“It’s alright if you aren’t,” he says, “I guess I should probably let you get back to your field work….”

“This’d better be worth it,” you grumble, stomping over to the couch and collapsing over the cushions. 

He waits, probably listening to you roll around trying to get comfortable.  “Let’s try this again,” he says, and you can just imagine the look on his face that would go with that husky voice, “What are you wearing right now?”

You swallow in nervous anticipation, hitting the speakerphone button and laying the phone on the coffee table to free up your hands.  “Don’t you already know?  I haven’t changed since I left this morning.”

He laughs.  “I remember what you were wearing, sweetheart, it’s just part of the fun.”

“Oh.”  You bite your lip, feeling self-conscious suddenly.  “Sorry, I haven’t actually done this…uh….”

Even over the phone, he immediately senses your unease and says, “It’s alright, don’t worry about it.  You still have your jacket on?”

“Uh.  Yeah.”

“Take it off.”  It’s a simple request, but he speaks with a firm authority that instantly sends heat rushing to your core.  “Slowly,” he amends when you fumble with your zipper, “Like I would do it.”

Surely, that shouldn’t be sexy by itself.  You literally just started but you’re already burning up and struggling to go slow, just as slow as he would go which is _unbearably_ slow.  (And that’s a testament to his self-control rather than a joke about his age, too, because you simply can’t make jokes like that anymore, not when you’ve laid panting in bed after a second orgasm and he’d only looked mildly disheveled and a bit red in the face, smiling as he waited for you to come down from it just so you could really enjoy getting worked up all over again.)

“Slowly,” you repeat breathlessly, “Got it,” relieved when the damn thing is finally unzipped and you can slide it off of your shoulders and leave it on the floor somewhere.  You’re about to ask if you can just take everything off yet when you hear a soft groan crackle through the phone speaker and hesitate.  “What,” you pause, embarrassed for some reason, “Um, what are you wearing?”

It sounds dumb when you say it.  You’re instantly filled with regret and open your mouth to verbally backpedal, but Professor Willow doesn’t give you the chance.  “You remember,” he teases, “The same thing as this morning.  Except, right now, I’ve got my pants down around my hips and I-I’m,” he actually stammers, and something about that is really hot, especially with the slick sounds you hear in the background, “really hard just imagining you.  I bet you’re blushing; that drives me crazy, you know, you’re so cute when you get embarrassed.”  You hear him inhale sharply.  “Are you on the couch or the bed?”

“Couch,” you say, throwing your patience out the window as you start shedding the rest of your clothes.  “I wish you were here.”

“Pretend I’m there,” he says, “I want you to close your eyes and touch yourself, and imagine it’s me.  It’s my hands on you.”

You let your eyes slide shut and reach between your thighs, rubbing your clit, moving your fingers in firm circles just like he would, and you let out a moan.

“Just like that.  Just like that, sweetheart.  You’re doing so good.”  He’s stroking himself faster, you can tell.  He hasn’t gotten this worked up so quickly in a long time; it really has been too long for you both.  “Sorry, I wanted to drag this out a little, but I don’t know how long I’m gonna last.”

“That’s okay,” you assure him, secretly relieved.

“I still want you to beg.”  His tone shifts to that affectionate but filthy, rough one that sends shivers down your spine.  “Can you do that for me, honey?  Beg daddy to fuck you?”

“Y-yeah,” you breathe, slipping a finger inside of yourself, “I want you so bad, daddy.  I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow, I want you to fuck me a-all night.  I miss that, I miss daddy’s huge cock in my pussy, making me come over and over….”

He curses under his breath.  “Good girl,” he moans, “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?  Daddy’s gonna give it to you now, honey, open your pussy up for me.”

You whimper, parting your lower lips with one hand and thrusting two fingers inside with the other.  “Haaaa…it’s…oh god….”

“I know, baby.”

He sounds like he’s almost as much of a wreck as you are, throaty, shaky moans leaving his mouth as he pumps his cock.  You imagine those sounds are from the two of you, from him drilling your pussy as he takes you on the couch, his body draped over yours and his hips setting an unrelenting rhythm.  It’s not the same, it’s not enough, but you can hear his voice and you can picture him with you, inside of you, and you feel yourself rapidly approaching climax, toes curling.

“Fuck,” he pants, “You’re so hot, sweetheart, you’re…nnggh….”

You hear Professor Willow come with a strangled groan, and you can just imagine his cock pulsing inside you as he crushes your lips together in a sloppy kiss, swallowing both of your moans.  “Daddy,” you cry, so close, just a little more, you just need to hear his voice again, “Daddy, please—!”

“Come,” he orders, voice ragged, “Come on daddy’s cock, milk me dry.”

You throw your head back, nearly sobbing as your orgasm tears through you, fingers sinking into your heat and back arching off of the couch.  Your hips spasm involuntarily a few times and you lay there, delirious, for almost a minute, listening to him breathe on the other end of the line.

“So,” he’s the first to speak after a moment, and you can tell he’s smiling again, probably that unrestrained, blindingly bright one that stirs up butterflies in your stomach, “Was it worth it?”

You barely have enough air in your lungs to laugh, but you manage.  “I’ll say.”  You roll onto your side as you catch your breath, eyeing the stairs and wondering if you want to just take a quick shower before you head out again, and then you realize something.  “You came first.”

“Ah.  Yes?”  He sounds like you just proclaimed that pidgeys are not uncommon in the wild.

“You never come first.”

“I suppose I don’t usually.”

You laugh again, wiping some sweat from your brow with one hand.  “We need to have some really crazy sex when you get home tonight.”

Professor Willow sighs.  “I won’t be done by tonight.”

“Forget what I said!  I was wrong.  Your work is important, but this is…”  You struggle to find a way to phrase it that doesn’t sound self-serving.  “Look, this should be at least equally important, right?  Daddy?”

There’s a pause.  You cross your fingers.  “Sorry, sweetheart,” he says with a chuckle, “But I’m not going to be swayed so easily.  I have to get caught up anyway, this is a good motivator.”

“When this is over,” you warn him, “I’m going to tie your hands behind your back and ride you until you’re a begging, crying mess.”

He laughs.

You don’t. 

“Alright,” he says, and he audibly swallows, probably getting a little hot under the collar all over again, “I should get going.”

“Alright, daddy,” you say coyly, and you notice how quickly he hangs up.

You make your way to the bathroom and end up touching yourself under a stream of hot water, half imagining Professor Willow rushing to the bathroom as his coworkers come back so he can get off again, half scheming something.

From the sound of it, he was apparently under the impression that you were making a threat when you mentioned riding him until he was begging, but it was actually a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a three-part fic. This was supposed to be the last part.
> 
> Save me from myself.


End file.
